Dethheroes
by Miranda Sparks
Summary: Marvel Zombies x Metalocalypse crossover. When the zombies storm the Earth the world's most influential metal band take to space for refuge, but what will they do if all of their fans are dead? Rated for language, death and the desecration of a horse.


**Metalocalypse vs Marvel Zombies:  
Dethheroes**

**By Jack Midnight**

* * *

The walls pulsated with noise as the combined force of savage rhythm guitar, intense basslines, violent guitar shredding and drums like a medieval army galloping into war echoed through the system and into the recording studio. Each member of Dethklok held their instrument as though it were an instrument of pain and applied them fervently to the task. There were none that could match their darkness and brutality, and that was what made them the most influential metal band in all of human history. 

Nathan Explosion stood before them with a cruel grimace, his long black hair hanging behind him like an executioner's hood. He clutched his microphone in his meaty hand like a dagger and waited for his opening. Then came the riff, just as they'd practiced, and then did he pull the microphone to his thin lips and released the lyrics from his depths in a deep guttural roar.

_Waiting for the axe to fall,  
Your life blood painted on the walls  
You see it on the TV screen,  
I murder! I murder!_

_In the dark before the dawn,  
The hatred that my anger spawned  
Wash your hands and make them clean,  
I murder! I murder!_

_They say a demon made me do it (You can't make do it!)  
I am my own Satan (eternal in my hating!)  
Make the world a living hell (I kill you, end myself!)  
Sha-tter the sha-ckles, __**make them pay!**_

_FEED! MY! SELF! WHILE!  
BOUND! IN! CHAINED! LOCKS!  
THOUGHTS! OF! CRUEL! THINGS!  
FILL! MY! HATE! BOX!_

The tempo shifted as Pickles crashed the cymbals and beat the drums with thin, flailing limbs and long, furious red dreadlocks draping over his bearded scowl. The Swedish guitar legend, Skwisgaar Skwigelf, taller than a tree, tilted back in a stance that was almost aloof, allowing his straight golden hair fall back majestically as his fingers danced upon the strings. After an impressive show the band returned to it's original beat.

_More news comes at eleven  
There is no such thing as Heaven  
Questions tearing at your head  
Offender! Pretender!_

_Lock me in a silent cage  
Leave me bubble in my rage  
Sit alone and wait for death  
Surrender! Surrender!_

_They say that I'm beyond redemption (murder erection!)  
In my final breathe (as I face my death!)  
My life was ended in a chair (corpse with pretty hair!)  
Make them all qui-ver __**in dis-grace!**_

_KILL! THE! KING! AND!  
MAKE! THE! WORLD! STOP!  
THOUGHTS! OF! CRUEL! THINGS!  
FILL! MY! HATE! BOX!_

_FEED! MY! SELF! WHILE!  
BOUND! IN! CHAINED! LOCKS!  
I! HATE! YOU! NOW!  
FILL! MY! HATE! BOX!_

Heavy bass drums beat down, making the walls and the very ground shake. The band struggled to stay on their feet as the earth became stable once more. Suddenly their equipment had shorted out and they were flooded in red light. The emergency generators had just activated.

"Whoa. That was somes sweet double-kicks," Skwisgaar mused casually.

The drummer looked around confusedly, brushing the dreadlocks from his face. "What? That... that wasn't no double-kick."

"Good one, Pickles!" Nathan chided him harshly in his raspy growl. "I know that sounded awesome, but you didn't have to short out the **fucking sound system!"**

"No, dudes, that wasn't me. Seriously," he pleaded. "I know, that's not know the song goes. I... I wish I could do double-kicks that awesome, but..."

"That was double-kick."

"Yeah, yeah, that was definitely some badass double-kick," lisped Murderface, the bass player, agreeably from the corner, stabbing at the soundproofing with a dagger out of sheer boredom.

"It wasn't no double-kick, you douchebags!" Pickles bellowed and reached for a conveniently placed bottle of whiskey, downing several mouthfuls to ease his frustration. "It was Toki! Toki's the one who did it!"

The thin, boyish guitarist from Norway was for a moment perplexed with the finger Pickles pointed accusingly towards him. "Me? What's did I do? I was just playing the song, just likes we practiced."

"Oh no. Don't start that with me," he scoffed. "That tuning is way too deep. You're only supposed to go down to drop D. How far you're down... why aren't your freakin' strings falling off?" Toki Wartooth tried to defend himself but still the drummer rambled. "How do we get a guitar player that doesn't even know how to play guitar, anyways? It's like... god!"

"I's been sayings thats for years," Skwizgaar interjected dryly.

"How..." Toki searched around innocently in his mind for a response but could find nothing. Instead he gasped breathlessly, failing to cover his sadness. "I don'ts knows what a drop-dee is."

"Hey. Hey! Calm down a shut up!" Nathan bellowed. "It... it doesn't matter... who shorted out the power, just so long as we get it back on, we keep playing, and whoever did it **doesn'tfucking do it again.** Okay?"

"I'll make you calm down and shut up," Murderface muttered as he stabbed the foam, imagining it to be one of the faces of his band mates. Any of them would have done, really.

Suddenly there was a loud click followed by the sounds of a hydraulic lift of some sort. The entire room was moving, leaving the band to struggle in search of composure against the g-forces they'd found themselves fighting. At the very least they were overcome with a profound sense of confusion.

"What the hell is this?" Murderface roared, stabbing at the wall furiously. They were moving, but where and why? More importantly, how?

Then there came a familiar voice over the internal building sound system. It was their manager, Charles Ofdensen, speaking in the matter-of-fact tone they'd all frequently said was nagging and robotic. "_Red alert. Red alert. Mordland is under attack. Prepare for emergency evacuation."_

"Oh, hells. Not agains!" Skwizgaar spat.

Nathan Explosion stared to the others in wide-eyed disbelief, clenching his fists and his jaw to keep himself composed. "This can't be good."

* * *

Soldiers lined up in their hundreds armed with every weapon they could possibly find from clubs, saws and hammers to axes, katannas and rifles. Their muscles rippled through the sides of their armless black uniforms adorned with executioner's hoods and under the perpetually black skies of Mordland they looked a fearsome sight. Every one of them were die hard metals fans and would do anything they could, including giving their lives, in service to their beloved Dethklok. 

Standing opposite them over one of the many fiery pits amidst the thorny black spires of the nation were Earth's mightiest heroes: symbols of triumph and humanity personified. Among their number included members of the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, the Avengers and so many more, ready to charge forward and fulfill their purpose.

Though they had not come to serve the noble cause that had made them famous: their faces were rotted and torn with blackened teeth glistening through dessicated gums. In unison they hissed, taking arms, staring down hungrily the hundreds of morsels that were awaiting them. Where once they were heroes an interdimensional virus had transformed them into the walking undead. Now they hungered purely for living flesh to eat.

"You may take our lives, but Dethklok will live forever!" As one they roared, cheering for the band as though they were gods while a giant, scorched black building with several hundred rotating helicopter blades took to the sky behind them. They called after it as it disappeared into the clouds above, ascending high beyond the reach of the demons that had come to claim them.

"That's fine by us," quipped Spider-Man to himself, drooling through the torn mouthpiece of his mask and eying the pieces of meat that were still lined up for him on the ground. "We've got ourselves a nice little smorgasboard right here."

Iron Man's animated corpse raised the visor of his helmet and smiled in sick irony from under the glistening red and gold armor caked in dried blood. He turned his head for a moment to the thunder god standing beside him and mused. "Dethklok. Thor, didn't they write a song about you?"

"Aye. Bloodhammer," the Norse deity informed him. If he still had lips he too would smile down on the delicious feast presented before them. "Tis a song chanted throughout the halls of Valhalla even to this day, to honor the brave battles, journeys and trials of Odinson."

Replacing his helmet the Iron Avenger gave a chuckle. "You don't feel at all bad about eating mortals who've paid you such tribute?"

The thunder god's belly growled, almost as if to answer for him. "Nay. I doest honor them by picking their bones clean."

"I couldn't have said it better myself." Colonel America pushed beyond them to the front line, his costume covered in dirt and what remaining of his brain quivering inside his open skull for all to see. He raised his shield high to gather the attention of his comrades, drawing them to the once great symbol of liberty and freedom. In a brave, commanding voice he spoke to their hunger. "Avengers! Go forth! Go forth and**dine!"**

A bloody battle raged and like a pane of glass striking a stone the armies of Mordland were torn apart in pools of blood and disembodied limbs. Collapsed skulls and human entrails lined their path as wave upon wave of men charged forward, ready to give their all in the name of the band they worshiped so absolutely. On their approach they chanted as distant drums and guitars rang out.

_Go forth! Be conquered! Go forth and __**die!**__  
Go forth! Be conquered! Go forth and __**die!**_

* * *

"Gentlemen, Dethklok have appeared to have fled the Earth in what can only be described as a_space helicopter_..." 

The well-dressed, white haired Senator Stampingston stood before the council and watched them gape in awe at the image projected on the connected screens behind him. There upon a blanket of stars, taken from the Hubble space telescope, was the picture of a giant black satellite covered in spikes. It was Dethklok's new refuge far above the planet where the zombies could not touch them.

"That's impossible," General Crozier muttered grimly from his space on the panel. "There's no such thing as a space helicopter. Why weren't we informed of this?"

The senator cleared his throat. "The information was there, General, but our intelligence division thought it superfluous. They've been instructed to not make similar mistakes again."

"See that they don't," he seethed quietly.

Senator Stampingston continued his report. "As I was saying, Dethklok have taken to outer space after the recent viral outbreak afflicting Earth's superhuman population. Spider-Man, the Avengers, the X-Men and the Fantastic Four are but some of those who've been transformed into flesh-eating zombie creatures. Their powers, coupled with their insatiable hunger, threatens to virtually wipe out all life on this planet."

"With Dethklok safely in orbit it's guaranteed that they're going to return and have a continued influence on future generations," Crozier injected forcefully. "I say we blow them out of the sky right now and let the zombies take care of them for us."

"General, I believe you're under the impression that there _will_ be future generations," Stampingston argued.

Bubbling in his impatience the General's eyes thinned while glaring at the senator. "All the same, I'd rather not take the risk that there will be a Dethklok tomorrow."

"No!" From his throne hanging above the panel Mr. Selatcia held out his whithered hand to silence the General. With aged eyes far beyond human years he stared down at the assembly and made his will known to them. "We will wait. Dethklok's time will soon come..."

* * *

"Five!" Toki swung the club and knocked the golf ball into the distant green under the starry dome above them. "Oh man, I loves this! Space golf is so awesome!" 

"Toki, it's 'fore', okay?" Pickles corrected him, just trying to ignore him and play a peaceful game.

"But you yelled out fours last time. After fours comes fives," Toki reasoned happily. "This is so great! We gets space everythings! Space golf, space swimming, space ping-pong, space hockey... alls of those things were so boring before, but now we're in space! ... Oh, wowee!"

"Yeah, I know, it's just..." He stammered for a continuation but he was just getting so angry. "Look, it's just that we're gonna be in space for a _really_ long time and I don't want to get too sick of it too quickly, okay?"

Toki raised a concerned eyebrow and leaned closer to the drummer. "Are you alright, Pickle? You'ves been acting really kinds of weirds lately."

"Sorry, it's just... I don't like it up here. I'm scared of running out of booze."

"Oh, Pickle," he laughed. "We haves enough booze to last us a lifetime!"

Wild with panic the drummer grabbed Toki's arms and shook him wildly. "That's just it! Don't you get it, man? I just don't think that's going to be enough! Do you hear me? I just don't think that's going to be enough!"

"_Hey, you guys!"_ Nathan Explosion's voice echoed through the dome as he tapped the microphone. "_Heh. Is this thing on? Um, yeah. So we were thinking that... we're up here in space, you know, and... how many times in your life do you get to record some songs in space? So, if you can come to the..."_

"_Gimme that."_ There was loud feedback as Murderface snatched the receiver from Nate's hand on the other end. "_Is this thing on? Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, ding-dongs! Which one of you pieces of shit broke one of my civil war action figures? I know it was one of you, because it was just fine when I unpacked it! So either you come forward and you let me __**piss in your shoes**__, or I piss in __**everybody's**_ _shoes just so I make sure I get you back! Okay? Okay."_

The device was disregarded and left to drop, sending a wave of feedback echoing throughout the vessel. Quickly Nathan grabbed it and began talking again. "_Hello? Is... is this thing still working? Yeah, uh-huh. Okay. So, yeah, we're going to record some songs. We need everyone, as in Toki and Pickles and Skwizgaar, to come down to Studio 12-B1. It's... down in the third... wait, no, fourth... fourth basement, and you walk straight ahead and you take the second left and then you should find it easy... after a few minutes. Yeah."_

Toki threw down his club and began walking while Pickles followed, downing several mouthfuls of ten year old scotch. "Stupid album. We always haves to records another stupid album! So what if the fans is commit suicide? It's not our fault they's stupid!"

* * *

"Gentlemen, I... don't know how to break this to you, but... you don't have to record a new album anymore." Dethklok stared at their manager, Charles Foster Ofdensen, a conservative looking fellow with proper glasses, a serious expression and long brow. At the moment he stood before them, tie loosened, appearing rather grim, even by his standards. "By the looks of things your fanbase are... dead." 

Nathan Explosion blinked for a moment, trying to take in the full meaning of what he said. "What, you mean... all of them?"

"Yes."

"They're all dead. All of them."

"Yes, Nathan. They're dead. They were eaten alive by... superhero zombies."

"Ugh. That's brutal."

"But if you thinks about it the zombie superhero things is pretty metal," Skisgaar kicked in enthusiastically. "Why didn't we thinks of that before?"

"Well, maybe, I don't know. Maybe because it'd kill everyone," Nathan growled out loud, still stunned in disbelief. "It's like, yeah, we hated the fans, but... we need at least some of them, right?"

"You're both right," Murderface lisped assuringly, placing a hand on each other their shoulders almost as if a brother would. "You see, sometimes it's important to realize that, even though people are dicks and you just wish they'd all die that sometimes, just sometimes, we need each other, you know? And no matter how metal a zombie superhero is, even if it _is_ really metal, that in the end it's probably not worth it if they're going to cost you several billion dollars in record sales."

"You're rights," Skwisgaar agreed, trying to hold back a meaningful tear. Oh, how he hated his fans, but how much he loved being a metal star.

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Murderface," Nathan replied. "That... that really means a lot. Really."

The bass player smiled and even when acting genuinely his thick mustache and separated teeth made him appear sinister. "That's okay, guys. I know what it's like. And now that we're closer, why don't you tell me **which one of you dildo-lickers broke my civil war figure!"**

"**It wasn't us!"**

Flying back into another of his rages Murderface stabbed at the wall, sorely tempted to turn the blade around and attack his fellow band mates. At that moment the studio door slid open automatically, making away for Toki and Pickles to enter. They were immediately curious as to why the wall was being attacked.

"Hey, guys. Sorry... we're... um..."

"We don't have to records an album anymores," Skwisgaar remarked casually as he practiced his guitar fingering. He took a monumental amount of joy when Toki's jaw nearly hit the ground "It seems that everyones on Earth is pretty much fucked excepts for us, so we haves nobody to sell a record to."

Toki couldn't believe what he was hearing. "All... dead?"

The manager stepped up beside him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He knew it was a difficult time for him, for all of them. "Yes, Toki. They're all dead. Or at least they all soon will be. So far nothing's been able to stop the zombies from their terrible rampage."

"No," he gasped. "What about all of them beautiful goils?"

Skwisgaar relaxed in the corner and couldn't help but laugh. "Listen to Toki, talking abouts the girls like he ever hads any. He doesn't knows about all the porns stars I had locked in the cryo-space-fridge!"

His face lit up. "You really have frozen porn stars, Skwisgaar?"

"I do," the Swedish guitarist bragged.

"He does, but..." Ofdensen trailed off sourly, knowing that his news was going to devastate them. "Gentleman, I'm afraid that when we left Earth we didn't yet have the resources available to reanimate them. I'm sorry."

"So they're dead too," Nathan clarified.

"Yes, Nathan. All dead."

"**NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"** His guttural cry practically filled the hallways of the basement level, not that there was anyone around to hear it next to the dozen or so crew doing maintainence. "I can't believe it! That's not just brutal, that's more brutal than brutal! We have to do something!"

"Yeah, this is totally dildos," interjected Skwisgaar as he threw his guitar into the corner.

Ofdensen raised an eyebrow curiously. "Gentlemen, with all due respect, there's not a lot you can do. They're superheroes and they eat people. We might have the arsenal to defend ourselves like a small nation, but larger armies have tried and failed."

Murderface huffed from the corner he now resided in. "I'd rather _kill myself_ than have to fight zombie superheroes!"

"That's... quite alright, William, because fighting them _would_ be suicide."

"Yeah," Toki agreed. "How is we supposed to stop a zombie Supermans, anyway? He be too strong, and fast, and we don'ts have any Kryptonite around use we cans..."

Pickles huffed, once more trying to contain himself. "Okay, Toki, Superman's a fictional character, okay? He's from a comic book. We're talking about real heroes like Colonel America and Wolverine and shit. Can't you tell reality from fantasy?"

"Listen, you big bunch of babies," Nathan commanded, his face contorted in raw anger. "There's only two things we can do. We can either go down there, probably die fighting some zombies, or we can stay up here, alone, without whores, and **spend time together for **_**the rest of our lives!"**_

Dethklok paused, suspended in the pure horror of the thought. They all nodded in agreement: they had to go down there and die. "We're... goings to wars. Why nots? We're all goings to dies anyway," Skisgaar said. "But plans are we need. What is we supposed to do?"

Again the harsh metal vocalist had a plan and grinned savagely. "Bring me the **Finnish Necronomicon!"**

* * *

News didn't travel very fast in a town like Tornkvist. It was an isolated community hidden among the frozen pines, far from where whispers of the world's events were passed. They'd lived happy, carefree lives and sustaining themselves on the resources they were able to harness and cultivate themselves, far removed from the world they felt they had nothing to fear from. That was until the refugees came. 

It was only a few hundred homeless survivors, but that alone was enough to flood the town. The natives instinctively shared the dread of those that came, fearing that such large numbers would prove to be a beacon for the zombie hordes, though in their kindness they were unable to turn them away. All they could do was pray that they would not be found... but unfortunately God was taking another call.

"Eat hearty, Avengers," Colonel America ordered the multitude of zombies standing behind him on the hilltop. Even now he boldly lead them, garbed proudly in blue, tainted white and blood red coupled with a sick, hungry grin. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't get enough of this rich European food!"

It was only minutes before the snow covered streets were stained with the sickly color of blood splashed along the sidewalks and the insides and outsides of houses. Every one of them tried to run but in a secluded valley drenched in ice they didn't even have a chance. Of course the zombies couldn't be more pleased: as much as they loved a good fight they just couldn't turn down an easy meal.

Deep rolling echoed through the dark clouds looming above, holding with it the threat of a savage snowstorm. It was constant, almost rhythmic, even growing so strong as for a moment to pull the zombies away from their frenzy and consider it. There was thunder with no lightning and it was coming closer: eerie, supernatural, powerful.

"A storm is coming," said Beast as he wiped a scrap of wet entrails from the blue fur around his mouth. Though it was evident to all that it was no ordinary storm.

"Nay," cried Thor, lending an ear to the sky above. "The thunders doth not hail with the screams of electrical guitars! Behold!"

The heavens parted as the thick, black spire shot down from orbit, riveting the air with the violent sounds of blaring metal. It struck the Earth like the fist of a god, shattering the houses and trees for miles around and burning to oblivion the survivors on impact. Long, charcoal spikes thrust out from it's shape, planting themselves into the Earth and securing it's position. The sides began to crack and the shell dropped away, crushing a number of the ground level zombies to paste as they fell.

"What the hell is that?" Ms Marvel cried out, infuriated that her lunch had been sered away into ash.

Thor floated above the ground and fought against the sound, feeling his bones tremble against the raw power of their riffs. They'd come to feast on the world's most powerful metal band in Mordland, but they'd fled. "They hath returned to us," he called. "Verily, we shall sup upon **Dethklok** this night!"

As the zombies charged they were repelled by a number of instruments. Laser beams sliced Cyclops in half from skull to sternum while Spider-Man failed to evade the giant rotating axe falling into his path. The skies were filled with missiles while the band's instruments roared and howled against the savage beating of war drums.

Nathan Explosion's eyes flashed with hate through the deathly make-up they all wore while his lips curled into a sadistic grin. With his teeth grit he took the microphone in one hand and the necronomicon in the other, proclaiming to the undead horde: "There is bit one constant in the universe, and that is death. Even gods and monsters will have maggots eating their fetid souls. So with that in mind we wrote a special song."

_As this world comes to it's end  
From the land Gods fear to tread  
Asgaard, Midgaard, hitherto  
Blóðughófi, we summon you...  
**Now!**_

_You can hear the thunder's roar  
Bodies fall beneath your feet  
Taste the blood and curse the night  
Fury's cry, eternal scream  
Burn the peasants, homes and trees  
Heed the call of Ragnarök  
Condemn them all to pain of death  
Take the ground and end their life_

_And they will __**answer to you!**_

_**Cleanse**__... the land! With! Fire!  
__**Quench**__... your black-ened! Desire!  
__**Feed**__... your sav-age! Bloodlust!  
__**Grind**__... their memo-ries! To dust!_

_Drink-up-the-end-is-near,  
**The end is here!**_

The ground before them trembled as distant fires began to rage. With a furious cry over the burning horizon came a giant horse, the warrior steed of Freyr, coated from head to toe in licking flames over it's charred, demonic features. Traditionally it's coming heralded the twilight of the gods and never did it seem more apt when Wolverine was trodden beneath it's from hoof and Iron Man ground between his teeth after one greedy bite into the air.

Dethklok stood wide-eyed in wonder, hypnotized by the display. Pickles didn't even notice when his bottle fell over beside him and drained to the ground. "Dude, that's gotta be at least the second most metal thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Yeah, it's almost as metals as that dragons we saw fucking a tank in dat nuclear holocaust that time," Toki added. "That was really cool, oh yeah!"

Nathan nodded a vague agreement. "Yeah, yeah, that was... that was really metal."

With each gallop the divine beast snuffed out the continued existence of another undead, breathing fire down on the rotting bodies and whatever remained of the small town. Large, gaping cracks opened in the earth, swallowing down down a number of the X-Men and the Hulk. Above the horse's head the Human Torch projected his flame to no avail, and was beaten down to the ground with a brutal headbutt.

Dethklok called and cheered while their own missiles, lasers and other assorted weapons cut through the monstrous numbers. Though none of them could ever hope to express it in words they wanted to laugh at the savage irony, that they who were born to tear, shatter and destroy would ultimately prove to be mankind's salvation. From that day forward they would be greater than the world's heroes, and they would ascend to godhood.

"I once I would do nothings believes in," Skwisgaar lamented, "but realize now for porns stars, for womens, I woulds anything do."

"Me too," Toki echoed. "I too woulds anything do."

Though before the Swedish guitarist could express his disgust the Norse creature fell back, crashing into the elevated stage after receiving a mighty blow from the weakened Thor. Responding automatically Dethklok's system fired all missiles at it's sternum, opening it's gullet for a trail of gore to come flowing out while a large axe swung down to remove Blóðughófi's head clean from his body. From it's neck stump the blood flowed like lava, melting the foundation of the point on which they were standing.

"That was..." Pickles stammered, "That was on auto-target, right? I mean, it didn't know what it was... was shooting there, or anything..."

The band leader fumed and gulped heavily. "Yeah. It didn't know."

"Oh, **God fucking damn it!** You've gone and doomed us all!" Screaming petulantly Murderface ran to the end of the stage and unzipped his fly, letting a long, golden stream rain down on the giant horse's corpse. "That's what you get for going and dying on us!"

From below the zombies looked up and smiled as the flames on the beast began to die away into ash. All they saw now were five tasty pigs sitting up on a platform, waiting to be eaten, all of which who were asking for payback after wiping out their last smorgasboard. Colonel America rallied the troops, raising his shield into the air. "Avengers assemble... and feast!"

"We're pretty much fucked now," Pickles observed.

Toki cried, clutching his guitar as though it were a leatherbound teddybear. "What is now we do?"

"Well I say we keep playing," Murderface spat, resigned to the fact that they were pretty much monster food anyway. "We turn on the cameras and we die doing what we love the most: being brutal... and pissing on dead things!"

"I is only ever been dyings in music videos before," Skwisgaar lamented.

"Murderface is right," Nathan bellowed. "If those things are coming up to eat us, we may as well be eaten while being dark and brutal. Then, maybe, if something should survive, or aliens find the dead planet, they can have some **awesome metal to listen to!"**

And so it was that Dethklok played, plucking strings, beating percussion and roaring savagely while being torn limb from limb. Pools of blood ran down them and threw the grates while the zombies bit off large clumps of flesh. Yet the greatest metal band the Earth had ever known continued, embracing their cruel and unusual fate. In those final moments they came together to present what was now going to be their death anthem...

_Die, lights, trapped, inside  
Torn, fights, conc-ubines  
**Blood! ...Ocean!**_

_Crickets, cry, inside, the night  
Trampled, takes, over, the mind  
**Blood! ...Ocean!**_

_The land's coagulated  
And my mind's incarcerated  
But my helmet's ventilated  
With the souls correlated  
Though my father's fascinated  
With the premises negated  
And the night will be berated  
With the souls of the deflated_

_Bleed, bleed, bleed, bleed  
Bleed, bleed, bleed, bleed  
**Blood! ...Ocean!**  
Bleed, bleed, bleed, bleed  
Bleed, bleed, bleed, bleed  
**Blood! ...Ocean!**_

_The land's coagulated  
And my mind's incarcerated  
But my helmet's ventilated  
With the souls correlated  
Though my father's fascinated  
With the premises negated  
And the night will be berated  
With the souls of the deflated_

_You... are gonna lose your mind... to-night  
In oceans... __**of blood!**__  
You... are gonna drown and die... to-night  
In oceans, in oceans, in oceans, in oceans __**of blood!**__  
Ocean  
Blood  
Ocean  
Blood  
Ocean  
Blood  
Ocean  
Blood  
Ocean  
Blood  
Ocean..._

Finally the last of them were silenced with a savage chomp as the Thing's teeth pulled away the flesh from Nathan's neck and made room for his head to be pulled away. Licking the blood from his lips and chewing with a loud series of wet smacks the late Ben Grimm huffed. "I thought we'd never get them to shut up!"

"I don't normally go for fatty foods, but this guy is delicious!" Spider-Man reached down into Murderface's gut and raised handfuls of bloody entrails to his mouth, slurping them like spaghetti with She-Hulk.

Daredevil sniffed at the forearm of the drummer he'd managed to pull clean from the elbow socket. "This one smells a little funky. Are you sure we won't get high off of eating these guys?"

"Any adverse reaction to illicit chemicals in the meat would require for our bodies to actually _absorb_ that which we are consuming," Beast observed while peeling strips from Toki's cheeks. "Being technically dead I would imagine that our metabolism would not function the same as it did before."

The zombies halted, humbled by yet another divine presence hailing down from on high. The dark clouds parted and the sun was eclipsed by a massive craft of unearthly origins. It hovered, drifting slowly as thousands of small lights blinked up and down it's smooth underbelly. With a subtle bass sound it stopped, beaming a spotlight to the ground in the middle of the battlefield.

"Tony?" The Colonel questioned his fellow Avenger, though Iron Man just shook his head in disbelief.

"Scans aren't picking up anything, Colonel," he said. "It's like they aren't even there."

With a loud rush and an explosion of brightness a platoon of blue skinned soldiers appeared, lined up in an orderly fashion with their guns and shields at their side. They had come garbed for war, their armor glistening in the light projected downwards from their craft. From among their number one stepped forward, and proclaimed in a voice that was almost supernatural in it's magnitude of volume.

"**People of Earth,"** he announced. "**I am First Class Pluskommandr Kos Mozz of the Kree Imperial Military. We are warriors hailing from a world you may not understand, but fear not. We do not intend to bring you harm. Instead we come with one purpose."** The zombies watched curiously, though couldn't fight the thought of what blue skin tasted like. Though the Pluskommandr paid them no heed and continued. "**We have come to humbly pay tribute to they whose music is most revered by our race. We, the Kree, have traveled the stars seeking an audience with they you know as **_**Dethklok**_**."**

The former heroes stood in pause. They'd come all the way across the universe... for Dethklok? There was no way they could explain that they'd just _eaten_ Dethklok. Once there was a time that this sort of thing would concern them, that they would fear some kind of intergalactic war. Though Colonel America simply smiled and stepped forward.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks as though our second course has just arrived!"

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
